


The Ballet-Mistress's Office.

by ConvenientAlias



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/F, Mocking, though it's more like an established affair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 20:44:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20784833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: Madame Giry clicks her tongue. “You are still an insufferable brat.” Then she strides away, but with a quick gesture for Carlotta to follow. Utterly imperious.Of course Carlotta follows.





	The Ballet-Mistress's Office.

Carlotta’s tired but glowing when she runs into Madame Giry that evening. Tired, because it’s been a nightmare of a day—half her public run off to support Christine Daae of all people, and herself half inclined to quit the stage with people being so fickle, and the managers and Piangi and the choir director and everyone under the sun begging her to come back—and glowing because, well. Everyone under the sun begging her to come back.

Carlotta doesn’t have an ego and she doesn’t need affirmation of just how good she is but everyone likes to be appreciated.

Madame Giry, who never appreciates her properly, gives her a long, disapproving look. Carlotta says, “Well, is there something on my face, Madame Raven?” (She’s still in all black, even after Carlotta gave her a couple very nice dresses for her last birthday only a month ago. So attached to her solemnity.)

“Nothing at all, diva. I was only admiring your skill.”

“Oh?” Coming from Madame Giry, it doesn’t sound like praise.

“Yes, your conducting skill. That was a pretty song you had them singing today. ‘_Oh, prima donna, first lady of the stage… we’re down on our knees for you_.’ I’d never heard such a pretty song out of our managers.”

“Well, monsieurs Firmin and Andre are new, after all. I’m sure you’ll hear them sing like that for me many times, Madame Giry.” Carlotta cocks her head. “Are there any more clever observations you have to offer?”

Madame Giry only clicks her tongue. “You are still an insufferable brat.” Then she strides away, but with a quick gesture for Carlotta to follow. Utterly imperious.

Carlotta has a pretty good idea of what’s to follow. And many a diva would leave in a huff or out of intimidation, unable to bear up under the anger of Madame Giry. But Carlotta has a thick skin, and she’s never minded letting Madame Giry let off some steam. So of course she follows.

* * *

Madame Giry leads them back to her office. It’s a tight little room where she keeps various supplies for her work as ballet mistress, and there’s only room in it for a desk and a chair and one or two people. Carlotta makes it two, and closes the door neatly behind them, grabbing the key from Madame Giry to lock it.

Madame Giry holds out her hand for the key when she’s done, and when Carlotta hands it back, she crushes Carlotta’s hand in her grip, making Carlotta wince.

“Ah, ah, Madame Giry… do you really have to be so mean?”

“All day long, all anyone’s done in this opera house is flatter you. It’s no wonder you’re so spoiled.”

Carlotta pouts, but Madame Giry is unsympathetic. She even adds, “I wonder if anyone has ever disciplined you properly in your whole life.”

“What have I ever done to be disciplined? You get angry at me so easily, Madame Giry. Really I do not deserve your ire. Sometimes I wonder why I put up with you.”

Madame Giry raises her eyebrows. “Do you?”

When Carlotta was young, she thought the beauty of an ingénue was the ultimate power; all men folded before her and all women admired her. When she was a little bit older, she realized that a mature diva could sometimes leverage a little more respect. But now she is older than that, even, and has come to the conclusion that there is no power on earth that can stand firm looking at the rigid lines of Madame Giry’s mouth, for all that Madame Giry is old and plain and dour. She is quite a force somehow. Were they to really fight, for influence over the managers or the opera house, it’s hard to say who would win.

But this is only a little tiff, so Carlotta remains brave, and only shrugs a little disdainfully. “Yes. You quite frustrate me, Madame Giry.”

Madame Giry huffs. Then she stalks over to Carlotta and corners her against the door. She still has the ability to make Carlotta back up with her glare, and it is a small enough room already. “So _you_ find _me_ frustrating?”

“Yes. You are too presumptuous.”

At this Madame Giry actually laughs. “So I’m presumptuous now? I worked for this opera house before you had even begun to sing.” She thrusts a leg between Carlotta’s thighs, skirt rubbing against skirt, and Carlotta automatically spreads her legs slightly to accommodate her. She’s already a little wet and half-hates herself for it—but why should she bother feeling embarrassed? Madame Giry’s the one who brought her here. Madame Giry’s the one who always starts these encounters, and they both know how these encounters end.

What were they talking about? Ah, yes. “I wouldn’t be so proud to mention such an old age if I were you, Madame.” This is a cheap blow, but Carlotta wants to see Madame Giry get heated. And it works. Madame Giry’s eyes narrow and she finally snaps.

With one hand she grabs Carlotta’s chin and pushes her head back against the door, and with the other hand she begins to unbutton Carlotta’s buttons. Carlotta makes no move to help her—it’s interesting seeing how cleverly she can manage all those buttons with one hand, though it’s also hard to see what she’s doing at all with her head at this angle. And the pressure, almost at Carlotta’s throat, throttling her, is distracting. She reaches out to undo Madame Giry’s buttons too, but Madame Giry pushes her hands down and begins to move the leg she has between Carlotta’s thighs, offering friction at her groin. Even with two dresses and a thousand layers separating them, the touch is perfect. Carlotta moans.

Madame Giry succeeds in opening her bodice. Underneath, her chemise and shift are skimpy, and Madame Giry huffs. “Harlot.” She slips her hands right in under the low neckline and cups Carlotta’s breasts, squeezing and massaging until Carlotta’s nipples are hard. Her hands are warm and callused; Carlotta knows the feel of them well by now but they still do something to her every time. She thrusts against Madame Giry’s leg and clutches at Madame Giry’s arms and back, not inhibiting her touches but merely steadying herself and keeping Madame Giry close.

She comes faster than she should, so of course Madame Giry needs to make fun of her. “So needy, Madame Giudicelli. Isn’t it a shame that our house’s diva is such a little whore?” She whispers it into Carlotta’s ear, inches away from biting her. But Madame Giry rarely uses her mouth. It’s a pity; though Madame Giry’s no singer, Carlotta imagines she could really make use of those lips if she wanted to.

She grins. “You want so badly for this to be a reputable establishment,” she pants, “with your neat little dresses and your polite manners and your long black cane. But this is an opera house, my dear. What do you really expect?” She drops to her knees and slowly lifts up Madame Giry’s skirt. Madame Giry won’t be so cocky when she’s showing some leg; they’re all as crude as each other around here.

As she inches her hands up Madame Giry’s legs, she murmurs, “Don’t you do just as much as the rest of us in dirtying the place up?”

“You’re hopeless,” Madame Giry says. “I gave up on giving you proper discipline long ago.”

“That’s all right, Madame. Don’t feel too bad. You’re not my mother, after all.” (Carlotta had hated her mother—the woman never really understood her urge to fame, to greatness…) “So just relax, and I’ll show you why the managers and the patrons and all of Paris sing to my tune. Maybe you’ll like to join in after all.”

Madame Giry only laughs again, but she gets a little hoarse as Carlotta goes to work on her. Every time, Carlotta takes such good care of her, even though all she does is scold. The woman could stand to be a little more grateful. But then, Carlotta might not like her as much if she were.

* * *

When they’re done, it’s more than an hour later, and Carlotta needs must hurry. Still, she exits the opera house even more tired than before, and glowing for an entirely new reason. It has been, she decides, a satisfying if tempestuous day, and much has been accomplished.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Sapphic September prompt of "I've always been curious about what Carlotta/Madame Giry get up to when the ballet corps aren't around, and how these two deal with one another when they clash." Bc me too!  
I continue to ship Carlotta/everyone lols.


End file.
